


You Can’t Just… Appear Out of Nowhere

by nutmeag83



Series: Through All of Time and Space [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Again sort of, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Despite the summary, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Kid Sherlock, M/M, Magic, No Character Death, Pre-Slash, Soulmates, basically these two will always meet, but it works out anyway, it's not really clear how it happens, sometimes they get the timing wrong, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9924161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: John dies. He meets kid Sherlock. But things aren’t as he assumes.Or, the one where kid Sherlock still solves puzzles before John does.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just love the fact that these two call out to each other when they are worried or scared or in trouble. And that led me to think, what if John was in trouble, and his soul called out to Sherlock's before they even met? So, a sort of soulmates AU ficlet. You can look at it as pre-slash or gen.
> 
> This one's been sitting on my computer for a while, so I figured I might as well post it while I'm posting things. I'm also procrastinating on my current long fic. Friggin' writer's block. All hail the ficlet. 
> 
> Edit, Nov 2017: This is now part of a series. Sherlock's own time travel adventures occur in part 2.
> 
> As always, enjoy!

John Watson died on a completely unremarkable Thursday. At least, that’s what he thought must have happened. One moment, he was crossing the street with a lorry hurtling at him through a red light, the next he was lying down on what appeared to be grass, blue sky bright and cheery above him.

John wasn’t exactly sure if there was a god or immortal being that benevolently watched over its creation, but he wasn’t completely against the idea of some sort of afterlife. He was especially glad that an afterlife seemed to exist, given that his life on Earth was apparently at an end. He wasn’t quite sure why he was happy about that, seeing as he’d been ready to end his life for weeks now, but it was definitely relief he felt at whatever this second chance/afterlife thing was.

He was about to question it further when a young, high, rather imperious voice said “You can’t do that.”

John stopped his navel gazing, but before he could sit up and look around, a head popped into his line of sight, blocking out the blue sky. It was a child. A little boy with dark, curly hair, a pirate hat, and a wooden sword. The child was joined a moment later by a dog, tongue lolling as it looked curiously at John. The dog was curious, that is. The child looked a bit annoyed.

“What?” John asked. He tried sitting up and found that he was able. He was a bit dizzy, but his body seemed to be in working order. That was good. No use entering the afterlife bloodied and bruised.

“You can’t do that. It’s _impossible_.” The little boy stood upright and put his hands on his hips, still looking perturbed. “You can’t just… appear out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t appear out of nowhere,” John replied, rubbing his head in hopes of curtailing the dizziness. It, of course, didn’t help. “I appeared from London,” he continued. “On Earth.” He wasn’t really paying attention to his words, intent on trying to remember his death.

The child rolled his eyes. “This _is_ Earth, idiot. And you can’t have come from London. That hours away. And! You can’t just disappear from London and appear here. That’s not how physics works. Well, not yet.” The boy frowned, apparently quite upset that teleportation wasn’t a reality.

John was a bit reluctant to ask, since he wasn’t sure how the boy would take being asked about his own death, but he could use some answers, so he asked anyway. “How did you get here, then?”

“My mum. Obviously.” The boy answered with an eye roll.

“She die—ummm. You two appeared here together?”

The boy sneered. “Of course not. She was born a long time ago. I’m only _seven_.”

John frowned. He wasn’t sure what the kid was saying. “Pardon?”

The boy glanced up at the sky with a “why must I be saddled with these mortals” look and sighed. “Don’t you know how reproductive biology works? A sperm fertilizes an egg and then—”

“Whoa, hold on.” John put up a hand up. This kid seemed to be quite intelligent and knowledgeable for a seven-year-old, which was cute, but he didn’t relish a lesson in human reproduction from said cute kid. “I’m a doctor. I know how it works.”

“Then why are you confused on how I’m here? I was _born_ here. I live with my family in that house over there.” The boy pointed to a house behind a copse of trees not too far away.

“So, you’ve lived here all your life?” John asked, trying to work things out. Maybe the child was stillborn or died soon after birth, and he continued to grow like a normal child in the afterlife? He mentally shrugged. Why not. He didn’t know the rules.

“Yes,” was the boy’s exasperated reply. “Since 1976.”

“Wait. What?” Well, again, why not. Time probably didn’t work normally here.

“You’re not very smart, are you?” The boy asked. He crossed his arms, his wooden sword coming perilously close to whacking John in the nose. “I thought you were a doctor.”

“I _am_ a doctor,” John retorted. “Well, _was_ , I suppose. I guess I’m not much of anything now.” He frowned. Was he expected to work in the afterlife? He really needed to figure out how all of this worked.

“You stopped being a doctor? Why? Don’t you like helping people get better?”

“’Course I do. But I’m dead, aren’t I? Can’t do much doctoring in the afterlife,” John muttered.

The boy scrunched up his nose. “You don’t look dead. Are you a ghost? Is that how you appeared out of nowhere? Mycroft says there’s no such thing as ghosts, and though my experience is limited, I agree. I’ve never seen a ghost before. Though, if they look as real as you, maybe I’ve seen loads of ghosts and just didn’t know it.”

Oops. John hadn’t meant to let that slip. This child apparently didn’t know he was dead.

The child stuck his sword out and poked John’s shoulder. His bad shoulder. Which twinged. Huh. Apparently old wounds carried over? That was strange.

“Ow. Why’d you do that?” John asked, rubbing his shoulder.

“I was seeing if you were a ghost. You’re too corporeal to be a ghost. Also, you’re a baby. I didn’t poke you _that_ hard.”

“I was shot there, I’ll have you know. It still hurts.”

The boy looked contrite. “Oh. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you too terribly.”

John smiled. Sweet kid. “I’m fine. Just a twinge.”

The boy nodded, then sat down cross-legged next to John. He put his sword on the ground next to him, laid his elbows on his knees, and put his hands together in a prayerful pose under his chin.

“So, we have a dilemma we need to solve. You were in London, then you appeared here. You’re not a ghost, because you’re corporeal. Your war wound still pains you. You have a cane, so you must have a leg problem as well. How did you appear here? And why?” He furrowed his brow, looking off into the distance, deep in thought.

John stared at the boy in amazement. He was exceptionally smart and logical for a seven-year-old. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

The boy came back to himself with a frown. “No. I’m stupid.”

John huffed a laugh. “If you’re stupid, then I’m an idiot.”

The kid gave him a look that said _Obvious_.

“I don’t think many seven-year-olds know the word ‘corporeal’, and most wouldn’t be able to try to reason out my sudden appearance. Pretty damn smart, I’d say.”

The kid smiled a little. “You think so? Mycroft says I’m the dumbest person he’s ever met.”

“Well, Mycroft is an idiot,” John replied. “I know loads of people dumber than you.”

The child beamed, and John’s heart melted a little. He wondered what kind of family life the child had that he thought himself stupid. He decided to distract the little guy.

“So. If I’m not dead. What do you think happened?”

The boy’s face was thoughtful. “What were you doing in London before you appeared here?”

“I was crossing the street. A busy street. I was reading a text when I heard screeching tires, and I looked up just in time to see a lorry headed right for me. Then I was here.”

“You were reading a book? That’s probably not a good idea when crossing a street.”

John frowned. What kid thought of “text” in the book sense rather than a mobile sense? “No. A text message. On my mobile. From my sister.”

“Your mobile what?”

“My phone…You know. Mobile phone?”

The boy looked confused. Apparently they didn’t have modern electronics in the afterlife. Well, the kid had died sometime between 1976 and 1983 after all. Maybe this afterlife was based on that time period. Odd that John had ended up in it. He checked his pockets before spying his mobile on the ground next to him. He picked it up.

The boy grabbed it, turning it over in his hands, eyes darting all over it, fingers pushing buttons. He gasped when the screen lit up. “This is a phone? It doesn’t look like any phone I’ve seen. Do you work for the government? Do they have secret technology? What’s a text message? This reminds me of a really tiny version of a computer. What else can it do?” He managed to get past the lock screen, and he was studying the icons. “This is obviously the call function,” he muttered to himself. “This one is a camera. A phone that takes pictures? And _how_ does it take pictures? Where does the film go? It does have a lens on the back. Well, if a phone doesn’t need a cord, it doesn’t necessarily need the inner workings of a normal camera.”

John plucked the phone out of the boy’s hands before he could accidentally call Timbuctoo. Would his phone work in the afterlife? Unlikely, if the boy didn’t even know what a mobile was.

“Hey!” the boy protested. “That was rude. I wasn’t finished.” He glared at John. “Give it back.”

“You were rude first. Taking it out of my hands,” John retorted. Oh great. He was turning into a seven-year-old himself.

“How am I supposed to learn about it if I can’t look at it? I need to observe. So where did you get the phone? They’re not given to all soldiers. Were you in a secret part of the army? What did you do? Why would they need a doctor on a secret army team?”

John wrinkled his brow. This was the second time the boy had mentioned his army past. “How did you know I was in the army?”

“You’ve got an army haircut, and your face and hands are tanned, but not your arms or lower neck. That eliminates sun bathing and probably other outdoor work. You also hold yourself stiffly, as if you’re used to standing at attention. Then there’s your arm and leg. You’ve been shot, but I doubt you’re a part of a gang. So, army.”

“Amazing,” John said, astounded. He’d never met an adult who could do that, let alone a child.

“Do you think so? Mycroft is much better at it than I am.” The boy shrugged, trying not to look too bothered by the fact.

“I really think so,” John replied. “And no. I wasn’t part of special forces. I was just a regular army doctor.”

“So where’d you get the mobile, then?”

How did John explain that he had died far into the child’s future? Or, imagined future. Afterlife future? He wasn’t sure how this worked.

“Well…”

The boy narrowed his eyes accusingly. “Are you from the future?” He grabbed the mobile out of John’s hands again and opened the lock screen. “You are!”

“Why do you think that?” John asked, letting the boy keep the phone. Not like it mattered anyway. Let the boy satisfy his curiosity.

“The _date_ ,” said the boy, his tone back to exasperated. He held the phone up to John’s face. He’d managed to navigate to the drop-down menu, which did indeed include that day’s date. Well, the date he had died at least.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Wow, the 29th of January 2010. What’s it like? Did they invent time travel?” His eyes got even wider. “Did you _accidentally_ time travel? Maybe you didn’t die at all. You accidentally time traveled just before you were hit by the lorry.”

John was about to protest, but stopped himself. Huh. Maybe? “I don’t know,” he finally replied. “I just know that one minute I was there and the next I was here. But we haven’t invented time travel yet, so I have my doubts. Afterlife makes more sense.”

“Afterlife?” The boy scrunched up his nose. “No such thing.”

“How do you know?”

“Well how do you know it wasn’t time travel?”

They glared at each other for a minute before the weirdness of it all hit John, and he started giggling. The boy looked confused for a moment before joining in.

Once he had finally caught his breath again, John shrugged. “Well, I suppose one is as likely the other. Both seem just as impossible.”

“Well I don’t believe in the afterlife, so I think it’s time travel. I should ask Mummy. She’s a math genius. She might be able to figure out if time travel is possible.” He looked at the phone another minute before handing it back to John, who slipped it into his pocket.

John was about to reply when he heard a faint call of “Sherrrrlooooockkkkk.”

The little boy fell back on the grass and sighed. “Stupid Mycroft. Always putting his big nose where it doesn’t belong.” He sat back up and yelled, “I’m busy. Go away.”

A round, young teenager came bounding through the copse of trees they were sat near. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Then go eat. You can have my sandwich. I’m not hungry,” the boy—Sherlock—replied, sneering at Mycroft.

Mycroft halted in front of them, looked warily at John, then bent down to grab Sherlock’s arm. “Come here, Sherlock.”

“I’m busy, Mycroft. Leave me alone!”

Mycroft glared at John, pulling Sherlock up and behind him, as if to protect him. “Who are you?”

John supposed it was odd to find your little brother talking to a strange man, and so didn’t begrudge the teen for the daggers he was glaring at John. It was sweet how protective he was. He may be unnecessarily mean to his brother about his intelligence, but he obviously did care for the boy.

“Umm, John Watson. I—”

“You should go, before I call the police.”

John put out a placating hand. “Oh, no. I don’t mean to harm anyone. I was just—” John stopped. Probably not wise to tell the boy he was either dead or a time traveler. It was one thing to say it to a curious seven-year-old, but a genius teenager might not take it so well. The last thing John needed was to be sectioned. “I was lost. Took a tumble. Sherlock was helping me get my bearings.”

“Yeah, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, yanking his arm out of Mycroft’s hand and coming to stand between John and his brother. “I was _helping_. Now go mind your own business.”

“Sherlock! I’m not leaving you alone with a strange man. He could…he might be bad.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “He’s not. He’s a doctor. An army doctor. It’s his _job_ to _help_ people. He’s not going to hurt me.”

John stood up, dusting off the back of his trousers. “No. It’s fine, Sherlock. Your brother is right. You shouldn’t talk to strangers. I appreciate your help, but I’ll be on my way now.”

He didn’t know what he was going to do now. He didn’t know why he was here or how was he was going to get back home. If getting back home was even possible. But he didn’t want to cause trouble, and he definitely didn’t want to be locked up in either a jail cell or psychiatric ward. If this was real, that is.

“But!”

“He said he was fine, Sherlock. Leave the man alone and come on. Mummy will be looking for us.” Mycroft shooed his brother toward the house.

Sherlock tried to dig in his heels. “But I can help!”

John took pity on the boy. “Mycroft?”

The teen turned with a wary look.

“Can I just?” John came to stand in front of them and knelt down in front of Sherlock. “I appreciate your help, Sherlock. It was really nice talking to you. But I should go.”

“But…” The boy looked distressed. “What if you can’t find your way home?”

John shrugged. He was worried, but tried not to let it show. He didn’t want to distress Sherlock even more. The boy looked close to tears as it was. He tried for a reassuring smile. “I’ll figure things out. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll try to find you. Before you…before the accident,” Sherlock said, eyes bright. “Maybe I can stop it from happening.”

John smiled. He really was a sweet kid. And so intelligent. If anyone could figure it out, it was Sherlock. “No. You just forget this whole weird mess and go back to living your life. But…” John glanced up at Mycroft and back down at Sherlock. “You’re intelligent and amazing. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Okay? Never change.”

The boy looked unconvinced, but he nodded. He took a deep and slightly wobbly breath, then held out his hand, looking very serious. “Good luck, John Watson.”

John felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. He took Sherlock’s hand and shook it. “Thank you, Sherlock. Good luck to you, too.”

Sherlock bent down and grabbed both his sword and John’s cane, which was lying forgotten behind them. John looked at it, startled. He had completely forgotten about his limp. Sherlock handed the cane to him.

“Psychosomatic,” the boy said with a grin.

“Apparently,” John breathed, taking the cane.

Sherlock’s grin disappeared as Mycroft began tugging at the boy. “Let’s go, Sherlock,” the teen chivvied.

Sherlock gave one final look to John, then nodded.

John watched the brothers head back through the trees to the house beyond. Just as they reached the front door, Sherlock stopped and turned around while Mycroft went through. John saw him wave, and he raised his own hand to wave back, but before he could finish the action, he blinked and the scene disappeared. When he opened his eyes again, he was on the pavement of the street he had disappeared from. People pushed around him, but no one stopped to ask how he’d appeared so suddenly.

John looked around, but didn’t see the lorry that had hit (almost hit?) him. People weren’t crowded around a body in the street either. He wondered what had happened. Had he time traveled? Had he had a waking dream? It wasn’t until he was halfway down the block that he realized he was holding his cane, rather than using it to offset his bad leg. Curious. Maybe it had happened. Maybe some greater power wasn’t ready for him to die, but in trying to save him, he was accidentally sent back in time, where he had met an amazing and curious little boy. Maybe.

He crossed the next street (after triple checking both directions) and headed into the park that had been his destination before the…accident? Event? He was still deep in his musings when he heard his name being called.

ooOOoo

John walked into the lab behind Mike Stamford a scant half hour later, curious as to who else would be in need of a flatmate. He doubted it would work out. He wasn’t exactly the easiest person to live with, and now he might be crazy on top of it.

“A bit different from my day,” he mused, looking around the lab.

A tall, curly-haired man gave them a slight glance before looking back down at his pipette. But then he did a double take, and his eyes widened. After a moment, he looked back down and finished adding liquid to the petri dish in front of him. He moved a few things around, then stood. John thought he looked slightly nervous. He buttoned his suit jacket, smoothed out his clothes, then looked around wildly for a moment. Poor man obviously wasn’t comfortable around people.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.” His voice sounded a tad bit wobbly, but it was a pleasant voice. Deep and smooth. John liked it immediately. Something about him, though, seemed familiar. John scrounged his memory, but didn’t think he’d met the man before. Wasn’t likely that he’d forget a man like this. Handsome, in a non-traditional sort of way. Nice cheekbones, pale skin, dark, curly hair, aquiline nose. John’s memory went back to the little boy he’d met less than an hour before. He’d had dark, curly hair, too. That must be what made him think this man looked familiar.

“And what’s wrong with the landline?” Mike asked.

“I prefer to text,” the man replied.

“It’s in my coat pocket.”

John’s hand went to his own pocket. “Er, here. Use mine.” He held out the phone, feeling a bit of déjà vu. But this wasn’t Sherlock. Just a man who looked a bit like him. His pale eyes were just as wide as Sherlock’s had been while examining John’s phone, though. The man walked toward John and took the phone almost reverently. He glanced up at John again, then turned slightly away and started tapping at the phone.

“It’s an old friend of mine, John Watson,” Mike said, then both he and John looked at the man in amazement as he said John’s name at the same time Mike did.

“I did wonder where you’d been invalided from. Afghanistan or Iraq?” He continued to tap at the phone while he spoke.

John’s voice finally returned to him, but his brain still wasn’t working. All he could manage was a “Pardon?”

Before the man could answer, a woman walked in.

“Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you,” the man said, handing the phone back to John and taking the coffee cup from the woman. His look said, _Okay, we’re done here_ , and so she stared at him a moment longer before heading back out the door. The man then turned back to John.

“Well, which is it? Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Afghanistan. How did you—”

“You’re an army doctor recently invalided home from war. You’ve got a sister who’s worried about you but you won’t go to her for help because you don’t approve of her—possibly because she’s an alcoholic; more likely because she recently walked out on her wife. Until a few hours ago, you had a psychosomatic limp, and earlier today you met a little boy in a pirate hat who thought you were a time traveler.”

John felt his eyes go wide. No. It couldn’t possibly be…. “ _Sherlock_?”

The man grinned. “Hello, John. It’s been a while.”

Mike glanced between the two men. “Oh. You two already know each other?”

“Old friends. Very old,” Sherlock replied, staring intensely at John.

John grinned, still unable to wrap his mind around it. Apparently he really had time traveled. But how? And how did he manage to meet two versions of Sherlock in the same hour? He let out a huff of a laugh. “For you maybe.”

Mike looked at John in confusion and opened his mouth to question him when Sherlock took a step toward John while grabbing a coat and scarf. “No time, Mike. Got to talk rent and whatnot. Thanks.”

With that, he pushed John toward the door. John managed to get out a “Bye, Mike…and thanks!” before the door swung shut behind them. He dug in his heels and turned to face Sherlock. Sherlock! _How_ had this happened?

“What the hell, Sherlock? How? Why? _How_?” That was about all his brain would allow him at the moment.

Sherlock just stood there, grinning. “Of course! The universe is rarely so lazy. I still don’t know what happened, John, but I knew there had to be a reason for the place you landed, that it meant we would one day meet again. I thought about trying to find you, but didn’t know if it would change your future so that we’d end up never meeting, and I couldn’t let that happen. So I researched time travel and teleportation, but didn’t come up with anything conclusive. I even asked Mycroft— _Mycroft_ , John!—but he claims the government isn’t working on any such technology. Not that he’d tell me the truth anyway. He’s never quite believed me since The Event. Told me I was making things up.” Sherlock stopped the flow of speech, grabbed John’s arm, and hauled him down the corridor.

“Wait! Sherlock, just…stop for a moment.” He yanked his arm away, causing Sherlock to let out an exasperated huff. “Where are we going? What the _hell_ is going on?”

“Home.” He grabbed John’s wrist to tug him along again. John rolled his eyes and let him. “I can’t believe you’re here, after all this time. It’s only been a few hours for you, hasn’t it? That isn’t fair. I had to wait almost thirty years. I’m not exactly a patient man, John. I was going to find you, after the date on your phone had passed. I mean, I’ve done some research already. Well, back at uni. I knew you were here at Bart’s for your training. I was afraid to do much, for fear it would change things. But after today, I was going to start looking.”

John frowned. “Why?”

Sherlock stopped walking and stared at John. “Why? Because…because, I had to find you.”

“Why? I told you to forget about it.”

Sherlock’s eyes bugged. “Forget about the time traveler who appeared right in front of me and then disappeared again?”

John laughed. “Well, if you put it that way…”

“Plus, it was… _you_.” Sherlock’s voice was softer now, and he began walking again. They were near the exit. “I couldn’t forget you.” He pushed the door open and led them out onto the pavement before stepping out to hail a cab.

He gestured for John to get in when one stopped in front of them, then slid in behind him. “221 Baker Street,” he told the cabbie, then turned back to John.

“Me? Other than being a time traveler, what’s special about me?” John asked in confusion.

Sherlock frowned at him. “What’s special about you? You’re a brave army doctor who took to being plucked out of his life and into a foreign one remarkably well. I mean, you were a bit dense, yes, but I imagine even I would have been a little thrown if it had happened to me. And you were nice. You didn’t treat me like a stupid kid. You listened. And you told me that I was good just as I was, that I shouldn’t change.” His voice was so soft at this point that John had to strain to hear him.

John grinned a bit self-consciously. “Bit of hero worship, was it?”

“No!” Sherlock’s answer came out a bit louder than necessary, and John’s smile grew as Sherlock continued.

“I just… You told me I mattered. No one had ever told me that before. I mean, my parents loved me, but they were a bit absent-minded. I was just the slow younger child who couldn’t stay out of trouble. I thought…” Sherlock looked down at his hands and continued, much quieter now. “I thought you could be my friend.”

John’s heart ached for the lonely little boy he’d met a few hours before. “Oh, Sherlock. I’m sure kid me would’ve loved playing pirates with kid you.”

Sherlock looked up cautiously. “I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

“I’ve got a temper and no job. I don’t get on with people,” John countered. “I’m apparently capable of time travel.”

Sherlock let out the tiniest of smiles. “My job is dangerous. I could use a brave army doctor to back me up.”

John grinned. “Then I think we can come to an arrangement.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 follows Sherlock during his time taking down Moriarty's network. Read on, my friends!


End file.
